


There Will Your Heart Be

by LookingForShadows



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Community: kbl-reversebang, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-20 08:00:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LookingForShadows/pseuds/LookingForShadows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s Kurt Hummel’s sixth year at Hogwarts and after an almost two year leave, Blaine Anderson is on the train back. This is the friendship they develop when they become Potions partners.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. September

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Harry Potter fusion fic. If you aren’t familiar with the general plot of the books at the very least, you probably will not want to read.
> 
> Also, there is a lot of background Finn in here. After recent events, I don’t blame anyone who decides they don’t want to read.

Kurt Hummel boards the train in September of his sixth year with the requisite amount of boredom. He is a Slytherin, after all, and even though he has a good group of friends he generally feels comfortable enough around to laugh with, there are expectations and appearances to keep up.

Expectations are a good part of what allow Hogwarts continue to function.

“Listen, kiddo,” his dad says, and most of the time Kurt doesn’t mind that his father is a Muggle and American, but the way Jesse St. James is snickering at them sets his teeth on edge. After five years, he knows that St. James is a harmless—although ambitious—fool, but it still makes him mad. “Look after your brother for me. I know you two don’t get always get along -–”

“It wasn’t my fault that I dropped my trunk on his foot – his feet are larger than a giant’s.” Kurt feels a bit like a complaining child, but it’s true.

“This isn’t about that. You know as well as I do that Puckerman and your brother have been vying for team captain of their houses since they set foot on the Quidditch pitch. And with Finn captain and Puckerman not? They’re going to go crazy. Your headmistress is a little out of her mind, if you ask me.”

“No one did.”

Burt rolls his eyes; he’s never been one to suffer fools. “Keep an eye on him for me and Carole, yeah?”

He nods, and his dad pulls him into a hug. Even after almost two decades of living in England, Burt still looks like a walking American stereotype of baseball caps and flannel shirts, his Midwestern accent as comforting to Kurt as the memory of his mother’s Yorkshire one. “I expect a letter every week, kid.”

“We’ll see about that,” Kurt teases, but he’s already writing one in his head. “I’ll miss you.”

His dad grins. “You, too, kiddo. It’s too quiet without you around.” He doesn’t say he loves Kurt, because they’ve never been people who go around proclaiming their love loudly or often, but it’s implied and there, settling around him like a warm blanket.

“Hummel!” comes a shout from the train. “You’re missing all the good gossip! Get your arse on the train!”

Burt raises his eyebrows. “That girl’s a character.”

“Truer facts have yet to be stated,” Kurt says, and gives his dad one last hug. “I’ll see you at in November.”

“Write me,” his father says, and he waves and boards the train, trunk already stored safely in the compartment he’s headed to.

Rachel is waiting for him as he steps into the narrow corridor, and attacks him with a hug. “Kurt! Oh, I’ve missed you so much. Why couldn’t you come to visit me this summer? I thought you were going to hook up your Floo connection!”

Rachel’s voice continues from somewhere behind him, but Kurt forges on and slips into the compartment. Santana and Sebastian are already there, embroiled in one of their great battles of ‘who can ignore each other more.’ Santana gives a gracious nod towards Kurt and returns to painting her nails before he can reprimand her about her earlier shouting on the platform.

“Hummel,” Sebastian says, and gives him a grin that—if he hadn’t made it clear a long time ago that he wasn’t interested in sleeping with someone in his own dorm—could linger on predatory. He sends a couple sparks toward Santana when Kurt rolls his eyes, unimpressed.

“I have eyes, idiot,” Santana says, not even looking at him. “You want to mess with me? I spent the whole summer perfecting a perfect Tongue-Tying Jinx—”

“But the Statute of Underage Magic,” Rachel says hurriedly, eyes fixated on Finn, who is still standing on the platform saying goodbye to his mother and Kurt’s dad, “specifically prohibits the use of—”

“Don’t even start with me, elf,” Santana says. The previously insulting term is one left over from their childhood, before the House Elf Rights act went through the Wizengamot. Kurt isn’t sure when it turned into a term of endearment for his lovely but bone-headed best friend, but at some point it must have, because all she does is huff.

“Hey,” Sebastian says, and oh god, he’s leering again. That’s never a good sign. “Look at that fine piece of arse.”

“Don’t be so crude,” Rachel says, but she’s craning her neck to see who it is through the compartment window, the view partially obscured by steam. “Although ooh, he’s handsome—wait. That’s Blaine Anderson.”

Kurt turns so fast he’s afraid of whiplash. “Anderson’s back?”

Sebastian whistles lowly. “Seems like it. He grew into himself.”

“And grew a backbone, hopefully,” Santana mutters.

Blaine Anderson’s a Hufflepuff in his year, and Kurt doesn’t know him that well, but everyone knows what happened to him a year and a half ago. It was their fourth year, and the Triwizard Tournament – the first one since it went so wrong when Harry Potter was in his fourth year.

Kurt had gone alone to the traditional Yule Ball, dancing with all of his girlfriends and sniping at Sebastian when things got dull. Anderson had gone as the date of a Beauxbatons boy.

Some thugs—a few Slytherins and Gryffindors, as well as some boys from Durmstrang—had beat them up.

The Beauxbatons boy was sent home for his injuries. Anderson had been in the hospital wing for no more than a day before he was whisked away from Hogwarts and hadn’t come back to school.

“He’s got a backbone, Lopez,” Kurt says shortly, giving one last wave towards his father and Carole. Santana glares at him, but then the whistle is blowing, and all the last-minute students are coming aboard, and Rachel starts telling them all about her holiday in New York City as the train pulls away from King’s Cross.

 

* * *

 

“Oh, Merlin, I’m so sorry!”

The weather is surprisingly warm, even for early September, and Kurt is taking advantage of being able to walk across the courtyard instead of having to push through crowds of first-years in the corridors on his way to Potions. But then there was a push, and a shove, and Kurt tensed up because there had been problems with other students before, students who didn’t like his methods of self-expression—

But it’s Anderson who’s handing him his books, giving a shy smile that reaches his eyes. “I’m terribly sorry,” he says again. “I should have been watching where I’m going, but the weather’s so lovely—”

There’s a feathery little feeling that Kurt tamps down in his chest, something floaty that causes his head to lecture his heart, _Anderson’s a Hufflepuff. And all those horrible things happened to him. Don’t even think about it._ But he does say, “Don’t worry. I’m early for lessons, anyway.”

Anderson’s small grin widens until it crinkles his cheek. That feathery thing is going on again. “Kurt Hummel, yeah? We were Runes partners—”

“Third year, I remember,” Kurt says. The blush that inevitably follows is mortifying. “Are you back for good, then?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Anderson says. He’s still smiling but the happiness has left his eyes and he’s on the defensive. Kurt regrets asking the question at all. “Are you heading to Potions?”

Kurt nods, and gives a half-smile. “I’m waiting for Slughorn to make his speech.”

Anderson laughs, and it almost makes Kurt wish he was wearing a hooded cloak so he could hide a grin. Professor Slughorn has given the same speech every year since Kurt started at Hogwarts, announcing that this is his last year and he will be retiring come June. And for five years, June has come and Professor Slughorn returns in the fall, jovial and as set on retirement as ever. “It’s good to know some things haven’t changed around Hogwarts.”

The two of them walk the winding corridors and twisting stairs into the dungeon in a mostly comfortable silence, although Kurt spends a good deal of the time trying not to dwell on how attractive Anderson has become. When they enter, they go their separate ways, Anderson towards the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, all chatting eagerly with each other, and Kurt to his group of sullen Slytherins.

Well, sullen except for Rachel, who perches on her stool next to Kurt and whispers, “Anderson? Kurt, you can’t. He’s a Hufflepuff!”

She’s scandalized, staring intently at him. He’s not sure why; Rachel and his stepbrother have been dating on and off for years now, and Finn is a Hufflepuff if Kurt’s a day. He shrugs it off with a roll of his eyes, but as Rachel sets about sorting her new ingredients for the year, he sneaks a look at the group of badgers. Blaine is talking animatedly with the rest of them, and although he doesn’t glance in Kurt’s direction there seems to be a brightness to him that wasn’t there five minutes ago.

“Ah, my N.E.W.T. students!” Professor Slughorn’s voice booms out from the front of the room. “It’s good to see you all. I hope you all had wonderful holidays, but it’s autumn and nose to the grindstone again. Now, as you may have heard—”

 _From who?_ Kurt mouths incredulously to Rachel and Santana, who giggle and roll their eyes respectively.

“—I will be retiring at the end of the spring term. I don’t yet know who will be my replacement, but I expect I will find an excellent former student of mine to take the position! I will miss all of you, of course, but hopefully my wisdom with this field shall live on in your young minds.”

Santana barely muffles a laugh.

“Excellent! Now, you may not have heard that your partners are assigned a little differently in N.E.W.T.–level potions.” Slughorn surveys the room with a sharp eye. “A member of another House.” And then, as Thad Harwood makes a move towards Lydia Dalison, “And off the same sex, Mr Harwood.”

It’s not the first time a professor has assigned partners like this. Usually Kurt makes a beeline for Finn, because he’s made multiple promises to his father to not let his stepbrother fail lessons. But Finn scraped by with an ‘A’ in Potions last year, and wasn’t able (not to mention didn’t want) to take it at a N.E.W.T.–level.

Kurt has six options in this situation, but his eyes go to Anderson, who’s watching his friends scramble around, simultaneously mildly amused and confused. And then their eyes connect. Kurt lifts his shoulder and eyebrows, try to express in some sort of universal body language to ask if he wants to partner up.

Instead of responding, Anderson walks over and sits down in the empty seat next to Kurt with a ready smile.


	2. October

It’s approaching the point in the term where Kurt finds that although he has three free time slots in one day, he can’t keep up with any of his work and his bloodstream consists mostly of over-caffeinated tea and coffee.

He’s slumped over the long table at breakfast one day, trying not to fall asleep in a plateful of eggs and toast, when there is a familiar clawing at his shoulder. As she always does, without fail, Rachel shrieks and scoots away from Kurt.

“It’s just Littleton,” he says with a roll of his eyes, reaching across the table for an owl treat. He unties the letters from the bird’s leg, petting his feathers gently. “A letter from my dad and Finn’s mum, that’s all.”

“It’s unnatural,” huffs Rachel, who relies on near-daily Floo calls with her fathers. “Fine. Just give me Finn’s letter?”

He hands it over with a sigh; Rachel and his stepbrother are dating again, and snogging in every corridor Kurt seems to walk in. She grins and sashays over to the Hufflepuffs, draping herself over the boy who Kurt is convinced has giant blood.

His own letter, addressed in his dad’s untidy scrawl, makes him smile.

_Kurt,_ it reads.

_I’m glad things are going well for you at school this year. Just don’t forget to write to your old man every so often, okay? I don’t think I’ve gotten a letter from you since your first couple of weeks back. A guy misses his only kid, you know._

_Things are doing fine here. The shop’s great. You remember Martin Boyd, right? His wife had their first kid last week - a little girl. Looks a bit red and wrinkly to me, but Carole insists she’s cute as a button. They named her Ellie Rose, after your mom. Martin’s out until next Tuesday. It’s a pain, but the work’s got to get done._

_Carole’s busy, too. The hospital’s got her working long shifts, but I think she’s happy like that, working all the time. We got together with your mom’s cousins last week, the Dornys. I can’t remember her name - feels like everything’s going out the window these days in my head. His name’s Jim - I think he and your mom were first cousins. He’s a great guy. He said he’s got some connections at the radio network if you ever want to do voiceover work after school._

_Say hi to those two friends of yours - Rachel and what’s-her-name, the one whose name sounds like Satan. The second one may be evil, but they seem like good, dependable girls. And to Noah Puckerman, of course._

_Remember to keep an eye on Finn. He’s mostly harmless, I know, but gets himself into heaps of trouble._

_Lots of love from your old_

_DAD_

With a grin, he tucks the letter into his bag and moves from the table, giving Littleton a small push to get the owl up and moving. Santana wolf-whistles at him as he walks away – it’s been a thing she does lately to annoy him, and he’s still trying to find a jinx that will automatically tie her tongue whenever she does it. In the meantime, he’ll live.

“Kurt!”

He’s walking out of the great hall when someone calls out his name, and in the back of his mind – he barely has to think about it – he knows it’s Blaine. He closes his eyes for half a second and tries to picture the boy who he seems to be falling for much more quickly than he would normally allow himself to.

Black hair, shorter than it used to be, curling around the edges but plastered down with more gel than is probably necessary or healthy. Shining hazel eyes, beautiful and bright. A healthy tan, even in October when autumn is in full swing and winter is steadily approaching. A Hufflepuff scarf around his neck – Kurt can’t ever remember seeing him without it, even a month ago when it threatened to take over their Draught of Living Death.

(Kurt had not been happy when they nearly failed.)

He finally turns around, looking at the other boy with what he hopes is a welcome and not an awkward smile. “Hi, Anderson.”

“Kurt! Hi.” Blaine’s got a little bit of a Scottish accent that sometimes comes out when he’s not thinking clearly about what he’s saying. Kurt finds it absolutely adorable. “You on your way to Potions?”

“The bane of my existence,” Kurt says dryly, and where Santana would likely toss out a snarky remark and Rachel would simply be confused, Blaine laughs and agrees with a nod of his head.

The two of them have gotten to be better friends over the past month. Kurt knows that Blaine was in London over the summer, and that he has an older brother, a former Gryffindor, who’s scarily annoying and is currently trying (and failing) to start up his own dramatics theatre company in Diagon Alley. “Too close to Knockturn,” Blaine had said with an eye-roll. “He thinks it adds a flair or something, I dunno.”

In turn, Blaine had learned more about Kurt than he could ever remember willingly telling a person. Hobbies, and family, and hopes and dreams, and things he never told people. But Blaine –

He's so cute, and wonderful, and comfortable in ways that Kurt has only pictured people to be.

“Now,” Blaine says, and draws out his Potions book, “what d’you think Slughorn will have us doing today? We’ve already done everything up to page 20, so I reckon it’ll be something further than that.”

“Kurt Hummel!”

This voice is more recognizable than Blaine’s had been – almost a lion’s roar. A voice that is only physically possible coming from one person –

“Oi, Kurt! Wait up, I’ve got a message for you from the head!”

Teddy Lupin.

Kurt likes Lupin well enough. He's a sweet kid, even if his purple hair gives off the wrong impression sometimes. He sticks out like a sore thumb more often than not, but he likes that about people, and Lupin seems to like Kurt well enough.

“Hi, Lupin,” Kurt tells the kid. “Anderson, this is Teddy Lupin. He’s a Gryffindor. Lupin, this is Blaine Anderson, Hufflepuff. He’s been gone for the past couple years.”

“Hi,” Lupin says with an unusual downturn to his mouth. “Listen, Hummel. You’re needed in the Headmistress’s office.”

Kurt slides his glance to Blaine – _Anderson, Kurt, Anderson; you can’t afford to become too attached_ – and then to Lupin. The former is alarmed and the latter’s grim. “Do you know what it’s about?”

Lupin shakes his head. “No. I’m supposed to go fetch your brother, though.”

“He’s got a free time slot right now; he’s probably still sleeping,” Kurt says, and looks at Blaine, who gives a slight nod of confirmation and fights the upwards quick of his beautiful bow lips – _Kurt Hummel, you have not got time for that. Stop it._ “Anderson, I, uh, guess I’ll see you later?”

Blaine nods. “I’ll take extra notes for you.”

“And tell Slughorn that the Headmistress wanted to see me,” Kurt adds with a smile.

 

* * *

 

Kurt will never remember much about the next twenty-four hours. 

He knows he panics and that he cries. He remembers, vaguely, being grateful that his dad married Carole last year, because it will mean he won’t have to live with his homophobic grandparents in America if – if something should happen. Carole is the one who meets him at the hospital, where he breaks down crying into his arms.

He remembers crying out for his mum, but he never says anything about it and neither does Carole. She is respectful of the fact that she’s not his mother, and that Kurt was close with his mum in a way that will never be replicated, but they don’t talk about things like that.

He sits at his dad’s bedside for hours at a time, refusing to leave to get food or do anything but hold his dad’s hand. He needs his dad to wake up.

He’s the only one who’s left.

 

* * *

 

His dad has his heart attack on Wednesday. The headmistress tells Kurt she understands the situation is dire, so she’ll allow a short leave, but that Carole is watching over him and there’s not much either he or Finn can do.

In fact, given that Burt Hummel is a Muggle, there isn’t a whole lot anyone can do except wait. Watch and wait, that’s what the doctors say when Kurt asks them, trying to keep the strain and tears from his voice.

When Kurt and Finn Floo back to Hogwarts on Thursday evening, Headmistress Sprout squeezes them both in loving hugs and offers them biscuits. Kurt refuses, his stomach still doing uncomfortable flips.

Finn takes three.

“I’ll be praying that your father makes a swift recovery, Mr Hummel,” Professor Sprout says kindly as they pass out of her office.

Kurt turns back once he’s sure Finn is out of earshot. “Thank you, ma’am, but please don’t. Prayers don’t do anything.” He pauses. “Magic and science are the only things that could help him now, and I can’t use the former and don’t know the latter.”

The headmistress looks more than a little shocked, but she simply nods and gestures for him to use the spiral staircase.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the week is a complete blur. He must go through the motions of things. Santana is a silent presence at his side, and Rachel even calms her chatter some. Sebastian disappears completely - nothing helpful, but most importantly nothing snarky or rude.

He’s not very good in dealing with crises, so Kurt probably shouldn’t be surprised, but he can’t even bring himself to think about it. All his thoughts are with his dad, lying comatose in a hospital bed in York, so much smaller than he is in life –

“Kurt?”

Every way he turns, Blaine Anderson seems to be right there, waiting patiently for him to respond. If it wasn’t so absolutely touching and almost heart-wrenching in a way that Kurt can’t bring himself to analyze right now with his emotions so damaged and knotted every which way, he’d find it annoying.

“Hullo, Anderson.” Kurt tries to pick a little more at his porridge. It’s a fruitless endeavor, but it gives him something to do.

“I heard about your dad,” Blaine says. “It there’s anything I can do, at all --”

“There isn’t,” Kurt cuts him off. He’s not sure if he looks a mess or not, but it doesn’t matter anymore. “Thank you anyway.”

Blaine looks like someone took his favorite baby Kneazle away, but there’s no chance to dwell on it before Finn the Giant plops down next to Kurt. “Hi, little brother.”

“I’m three months older than you,” Kurt mumbles into a half-hearted sip of pumpkin juice.

“Yeah, sure. Listen, Littleton just gave me a letter from Mum. Professor Longbottom’s from kind of near York, so he’s going to Side-Parade us home --”

There’s a muffled laugh from his other side. Blaine. “It’s Side- _Apparate_ , Finn.”

“Well, not all of us are from Pureblood families, Anderson.” Finn rolls his eyes, and what the hell is with that? “Anyway, we’re Side-Parating home tomorrow night, and then we’re staying the weekend to keep an eye on Burt.”

Kurt sighs. All he had wanted to do was get through another meal, preferably with as little rolling to his stomach as possible, and yet he was sitting at the Slytherin table, bombarded on either side by a Hufflepuff and all he wants to do is be alone --

He slips out with some difficulty from between the two other boys and runs. For where, he’s not yet sure, but in privacy he can cry. And crying is just about all he has left.

 

* * *

 

It is Saturday evening when Kurt is left alone in the room at the hospital. Carole is on a night shift here at the hospital, somewhere in another ward, and Finn is sleeping at home. He seemed happy enough to not have to be at school for the weekend; as much as both of them love Hogwarts, for different reasons, it’s always nice to take a short holiday.

He can’t do much beside sit at his dad’s bedside and hold his hand, hoping beyond hope for a tiny movement for twitch that could signal a recovery. But even that is satisfactory. If it’s all he’s got, Kurt will take it.

He tries not to think about what will happen if Dad passes away - no, dies. He would die. There’s not use skirting around the issue for something gentler and kinder when the truth would be so much harder and more awful to bear.

He would be an orphan, technically. Continue with Hogwarts. Find some sort of correspondence work, maybe with the Daily Prophet or doing wireless recording like his dad suggested in his last letter. He doesn’t want to be a burden on Carole, either emotionally or financially. Try to make his way in the world.

But his dad is so much more than a financial means. He’s Kurt’s rock. He’s been so for the last eight years, and Kurt can’t imagine a life without him.

“Kurt?”

It’s the same voice as the one on Thursday. The one that was quiet and sweet and offering comfort that Kurt couldn’t bring himself to take.

He’ll take it now. “Blaine.” He turns away from his dad for the first time in hours - Kurt can feel his bones cracking and muscles aching in protest - to look at the other boy. He’s in pyjamas, a flannel dressing gown thrown hastily over them, his feet shoved into trainers. Kurt hasn’t seen him with curly hair since he returned to Hogwarts, but now Blaine is bleary-eyed and springing ringlets rioting in every different direction.

Kurt falls a little bit more in love even as he says, “Blaine, what are you doing here?”

He shrugs. “Finn sent an owl. All it said was your address.”

Kurt stares at him, almost blankly, so confused.

“It just...” Blaine shrugs, and he looks a little helpless, almost like he’s stuck in the same boat that Kurt is in. “You seemed so sad on Thursday. Like you needed comforting and didn’t have any way to be so.”

Kurt opens his mouth to speak, but suddenly he can’t speak. There’s just so much, and so much that needs to happen, and his dad - he just needs his dad to wake up so badly. He needs his dad. He’s only sixteen; he shouldn’t have to do this.

Before he can process anything, Blaine is sitting down in the hard, uncomfortable plastic chair next to him and enveloping him in his arms. There is a sense of home in it all - a subtle cologne, the rub of flannel against his tear-stained cheek, fingers curling lightly through the short hair at the nape of his neck.

He cries a little more - it’s so therapeutic, and everything feels a little more safe while Blaine is murmuring, “It’s okay, it’s okay,” to him like this. The sobs that wreck his body start to subside, and he is left a heaving mess when he feels it.

His dad’s hand, moving.

 


	3. November

They have an exam tomorrow.

“Why is this a practical?” Blaine moans, crashing his head on a book that sets up a cloud of dust. He rises up, coughing. “Ugh, I can’t even have a lie-down.”

“We’ve got work to do,” Kurt says briskly, trying to get past a few pages in his Potions text that consistently stick together. “Do you recall what Slughorn said about Draught of Living Death?”

Blaine gets this sneaky little grin that makes Kurt almost angry with him, just because he falls for him that much more. “That it causes the taker to fall into a living death?”

He’s still laughing at his own joke when Kurt shakes his head in exasperation. “Very funny, Anderson. Now can we focus?”

“I know you know my Christian name, you know,” Blaine says with a lovely grin. Kurt smiles and wonders how it’s possible for a person to be so attractive against a backdrop of hundred-year-old books. “You _can_ call me Blaine, Kurt.”

Kurt tries to smile but finds it difficult. He has called the other boy by his first name once before – at the hospital, when they both thought his dad might never wake up. But Blaine doesn’t seem to remember, or he’s doing Kurt a favor and trying to prevent it never happened. “I know, Anderson.”

Blaine laughs, a deep sound that somehow tinkles in the stuffy air of the library. Kurt thinks of the copy of Disney’s _Peter Pan_ his mother used to read to him as a child, with the fairies flitting from page to page, and thinks that if laughter could bring fairies back to life, Blaine would have just let the whole population live.

 

* * *

 

“I’m glad you could come home for the holiday,” his dad says, “even if you don’t like cranberries.” He sighs. “It’s almost a sin, kid.”

The four of them - Burt, Carole, Finn, and Kurt - have just finished an enormous Thanksgiving dinner. It had, as his dad likes to say, “all the works” - turkey, stuffing, bread,  runner beans, cranberry sauce Carole found in an imports shoppe, more potato dishes than are probably healthy, and a beautiful salad Kurt had insisted on. There are pies waiting in the kitchen for dessert later. For now they’re all stuffed to the brim.

The meal wasn’t as healthy as Kurt would have liked, but he and his dad are equally stubborn, and Thanksgiving is a tradition in their household. It’s a strange one, considering that Kurt has spent his whole life as a resident of the country that forced the original Puritans out, but his dad loves it. And Kurt really wouldn’t have it any other way.

“There was too much sugar in it, Dad,” he says instead. “Are you sure you had enough of the salad?”

He rolls his eyes. “Plenty.”

“You really can’t be too careful, with your heart the –”

“Listen, bud,” Burt says, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere for a good long while. So you need to cut back on your worrying, okay?”

“But–”

“Hey, did I say I was taking refusals?” He’s smiling but there’s a solemn look in his eyes. Kurt scrunches up his face, more annoyed than anything but knowing it’ll make his dad laugh, and sure enough, a booming chuckle bounces off the walls of the sitting room. “Seriously, though, kiddo. I want you to have a normal time as a teenager, not worrying over your old dad all the time.”

Finn chooses that moment to wander through the room, munching on a sandwich with leftover turkey. “Is mooning normal?”

Kurt glares at him, trying to make motions with his head to shut up or he will cut the other boy’s head off. Burt leans forward, interested, with a growing smile that means nothing but trouble and teasing for Kurt. “Finn, my kid isn’t going around mooning other kids, is he?”

The phrase flies right over Finn’s head. “He’s always mooning after Blaine.”

“Blaine?”

“Yeah, Blaine Anderson. He’s one of my dormitory-mates. But, yeah, he’s always watching Blaine. It’s kind of creepy. And a little annoying.” Finn ambles out of the room, completely oblivious to the grin on his stepfather’s face.

“That true, Kurt?”

“Shut up,” Kurt mutters, dodging his dad’s swatting hand and ignoring the laughter that follow him out of the room. “Finn, I am going to cast an Unspeakable on you and I won’t even regret it!”

  
  
  


He doesn’t get the chance to corner Finn until later that evening, when he comes out of his room to find Finn coming out of his, and waits until they’re halfway down the stairs before he corners Finn at a bend. “Listen, what did you mean about Blaine?”

“What?” Finn blinks, and Merlin, his stepbrother is so dim sometimes. “Blaine Anderson? My dormitory-mate? I didn’t even realize you knew his Christian name.”

Kurt rolls his eyes. “Yes, I do. Not the point. What did you mean, I’m annoying? Has he said something?”

“What? No! I mean, Sean finds it annoying, but --”

Kurt waves away Sean Fretthold, one of Finn’s other dormitory-mates. He could care less what other people said. He never has, much. But - Blaine. “So Blaine hasn’t said anything?”

“Um, not that I know of?” Finn sounds far more confused than he was even a few minutes ago. “I mean, I think he likes you but that --”

“He _likes_ me?” Kurt nearly yelps. Oh, no. Oh no oh no oh _no_. This can’t possibly be happening. And especially while he’s here till Sunday evening so he can’t do anything except send Blaine an owl and that is incredibly unromantic and he hasn’t even got Littleton here --

Finn shrugs. Ungrateful lout.

Just for that, Kurt hits him over the head. Lightly, but still.

He yelps. “Ow! What was that for?”

“Don’t be a child,” Kurt scowls, and then shoves up near his face as much as he can when there is clearly almost half a foot between the two of them. “Listen to me and don’t say anything stupid for five seconds, please. Did Blaine say that he liked me?”

“No,” Finn says, and Kurt breathes a sigh of relief. Good. Excellent, in fact. “But he just watches you all the time with those dopey heart-eyes --”

Kurt waves him off and stalks down the stairs before Finn can further embarrass himself, but there’s a small smile playing at the edges of his lips.

 

* * *

 

“Kurt! I was looking for you over the weekend!” Blaine’s scarf is flapping behind him, and he quickly bats at it to keep from blowing away in the strong wind. It’s adorable.

“I was home,” Kurt explains. He has a big exam in Ancient Runes next, and he’s flipping through one of his supplementary books in order to remember how to properly translate the plural of a potions ingredient.

“Home?” Blaine is clearly not going away, and he’s just so handsome and adorable and brilliant. It’s a terrible distraction and could cost him marks on his exam, but he’ll take the risk. “Is your dad all right?”

“Oh, no, he’s fine,” Kurt says. He’s been trying to remember not to worry about his father too much, but he can’t see it working anytime in the near future. “Well, except for the fact that he’s an American. Lived over here for almost twenty years but still insists we celebrate Thanksgiving every year. It’s a bit of an odd holiday, if you ask me, but...” He breaks off here, trying to save his wandering tongue and not ramble. “Well, no one did.”

Blaine smiles. “Well, I’m glad you’re back.”

It takes a true effort not to blush, and he’s still not sure it works. The tips of his ears feel sadly warm.

They both pause there, and there’s a moment - a quiet moment, where they both stand there, Blaine scuffing his shoes and Kurt fiddling with his watch, taking shy smiles from each other and looking away abashed. For a second, kurt thinks Blaine might say something - he parts his lips just a little, as if he’s going to speak - and there might be a kiss - just - maybe -

But the atmosphere shifts. The lights flicker in the corridor and Kurt sees Blaine stiffen.

There aren’t any footsteps behind him but he can tell something is wrong, terribly wrong. Every muscle in his bone freezes, he can’t remember how things work, he keeps seeing his mother in her hospital bed, and his dad last month, and vague flashbacks of Blaine at the Yule Ball two years ago and feeling sick to his stomach thinking _that could be me, that could be me, that could be me._

Then he’s being whirled around. Blaine is in front of him, one arm flung out with his wand illuminated at the tip. Kurt screws closed his eyes for a moment before opening them, terrified to find what is to come --

Dementors. Dementors, and they’re taking all the happy memories from him, he thinks about the times when he’s felt so alone and bullied he can’t do anything about, the months of emotional pain after Mum died --

“ _Expecto Patronum!_ ”

A dolphin flies out of Blaine’s wand, leaping about, and the dementor - a rogue one, and Merlin only knows how and why it got into Hogwarts - is gone.

Blaine drops his arms, which Kurt belatedly realizes were protecting him from the dementor. He looks exhausted, as if he hasn’t slept in weeks. Professors are rushing down the hall with chocolate and questions but Blaine just has a slightly lost, overwhelmed look in his eyes.

“Thank you,” Kurt says, and he means it with all his heart because this beautiful boy just saved his life, before they are whisked away for questions and care.

 


	4. December

“Guess wha-a-at,” Blaine sing-songs when he walks into Potions one morning early December.

“What,” Kurt grumbles. It’s not even a question. It’s just past nine in the morning and he can barely think, he’s so tired. Clearly the extra caffeine in his morning tea hasn’t been working.

Ever since the dementor incident he’s been trying to convince himself that he feels as safe as Hogwarts as ever. It’s not particularly working.

“Eighteen days till Christmas!” Blaine says, grinning, and Kurt pulls his head up and out of his arms - if he doesn’t, he’ll be falling head-first into whatever concoction they’re making today - to find that Blaine is wearing, of all crimes against fashion and humanity, a red Father Christmas hat.

“No,” is all Kurt says, glaring with what his mother used to call a Patented Hummel Stare until Blaine looks like a miserable little puppy. “Take it off or I’ll tell Professor Slughorn that you’ve got dragon pox and I’m not working with you.”

“I got dragon pox when I was eight,” Blaine points out, seemingly out of nowhere, but takes it off and stows it in his satchel. “Come on, Kurt, don’t you love Christmas?”

“It’s not bad,” Kurt says cautiously. “Hasn’t been my favorite in quite a while, though.”

“What?” Blaine sounds amazed. “You’re missing out. All the trees in the Great Hall, Christmas dinner with crackers, presents in the common room --”

“Somehow I don’t think that the Slytherin common room would take much to hanging up stockings.” The dry wit is a shield to hide behind, but he’s actually curious about something. “You don’t go home for Christmas, though?”

Blaine opens his mouth to reply at the exact moment that Slughorn sweeps into the room, already talking about the potion they’ll whip up today. He shoots Kurt an apologetic look, and pulls out a piece of parchment and a quill to scribble a note on.

_I used to go home for holidays when my brother was still at Hogwarts, but he lives in London now. He says he doesn’t mind having me for Christmas but Knockturn Alley is especially shady around Christmas and I can’t even do magic there. My parents just have strings of society parties from now until after New Year’s. Wouldn’t be much fun going home._

Kurt reads the note, face dipping into a frown, and starts to concoct a plan.

 

* * *

 

_Dear Dad (and Carole),_

_How are you? I hope you’re both doing well, and I’m sorry that I haven’t written to you for a week or so. All my professors seem to think that with holidays approaching, it’s an excuse to pile more exams and essays upon us. Santana suggested using fireworks to spell out a rude message in the Great Hall to protest, but I can keep up for now._

_Dad, are you keeping up with your healthy eating? Carole had better be helping you out with that. I know you don’t necessarily like it, but it’s good for everyone. I found an article on heart-healthy steaks in one of Rachel’s subtly anti-feminist magazines. It calls for a dragon steak, but a normal one should do just fine._

_As much as I wish this letter was about catching up - it’s kind of not. (Finn and I have got plans to meet in the library soon to write a joint letter to you both, so please don’t worry. He’s fine, by the way. I think he and Puck had a row, but they’ll patch that up in a few days, I’m sure.) Would you be okay if I brought home a friend for winter holidays? I know Christmas is a rather family-oriented holiday, but my Potions partner hasn’t got any place to go at the end of term. He’s also one of Finn’s dormitory-mates and I think they get on well._

_I’ll close with that, and get on with the Transfiguration essay I’ve been avoiding. It needs to be done in a few days and I’d rather not put it off if I haven’t got to._

_Lots of love to you both,_

_Kurt_

_Postscript: Dad, please say yes. He’s so lovely and I don’t want him to be alone at Christmas when we both know how that can be._

 

* * *

 

“God, that was a giant meal,” his dad says seconds after he’s collapsed onto the sofa. “Carole, you’re a goddess among women!”

“Don’t start with me,” Carole says, and sits down next to his dad. They’re all reclining - Finn laying on the floor, Blaine in an overstuffed armchair - except for Kurt, who sits daintily, legs crossed and folded hands resting at the knee. “Your son did almost all of the side dishes. All I did was the meat.”

“Which was delicious. That goes for you, too, kiddo,” his dad says. Finn looks up, but Kurt has never had the heart to tell him that when his father says “kiddo”, it’s always Kurt. “Finn, you’ll help me out with the dishes in ten?”

Finn gives a groan from the floor. Kurt is not well versed in the language of straight, overly athletic men, but evidently it means yes.

“I’m glad you could come, too, kid,” his dad says, and Kurt looks over at Blaine, who’s flushed a light pink. “Holidays are much more fun when you’ve got people around to celebrate with you.”

“I think so, sir,” Blaine says, quietly and much more subdued than he normally is. He steals a glance at Kurt, who smiles encouragingly, and then looks away.

“And you’ve made Kurt happier at Christmas-time than I’ve seen him in years,” Burt continues. “His mom died a couple weeks before Christmas, you know. Was absolutely awful. Hasn’t really been the same since, but I’m glad to see you could put a smile on his face.”

Kurt blushes, and out of the corner of his eye he can see that Blaine does the same.

“Boys, you should go outside,” Carole says. “We’re supposed to get more snow tomorrow. Go out and enjoy it before you’re waist-deep in it.”

Finn starts to get up, clearing seeing a chance to escape, but Burt interrupts with, “Not a cold chance in hell, Hudson. You know your mom was talking to your brother and Blaine.”

“Aw, Burt --”

“Kurt did all of the side dishes, like I said, and he put Blaine hard to work,” Carole says firmly. “Boys, go on. You deserve a little fun. We’ll each open a gift later tonight, all right?”

Everyone nods and Kurt hustles Blaine out of the room before he can protest. He’s seen his dad and Finn do dishes together, and it’s never pretty - they usually end up discussing Muggle football, or even worse, Muggle _American_ football. There also tends to be a lot of off-key singing and water fights. “Let’s go. I want to show you our little pond.”

Once they’re all bundled up, they head out to the little grassy area across the path from Kurt’s childhood home. It’s not much, just a few trees and some bushes and a lot of wild grass and a little pond where ducks sometimes congregate in the summer. But it’s pretty, and when it’s covered in a layer of snow it has a magical beauty Kurt has only ever seen in London and at Hogwarts.

“It’s so pretty out here,” Blaine says as they lean against the wall. Kurt’s dad has sworn up and down for about ten years now that he’s going to put in a wooden bench, but there is a lot of open field evidence to the contrary.

“It really is,” Kurt says. “You’ve seen how small our back garden is, so when I was little I used to drag my mum out here for tea parties. Sometimes my dad, too.”

Blaine smiles. “I’d like to have known small you,” he says. “I reckon we might have gotten on well.”

Kurt doesn’t have anything to say to that besides smiling, but Blaine seems to pick up the slack.

“Kurt,” he says, and does he sound a bit nervous, or is the mind playing tricks again? “I - I’m so glad we’ve gotten to be such close friends since I came back to Hogwarts.”

“Me, too,” Kurt says, and he means it, wholeheartedly.

“And this week has been amazing,” Blaine says, bulldozing on. “Seeing you here, and spending time with you is just brilliant. But, Kurt - I -”

He looks lost, and at a loss for what to say, and so beautiful. Kurt looks him in the eyes for a long second, trying to assess what’s there.

He sees love, and admiration, and gratitude. An appreciation of something, and a yearning that cannot be repressed.

“Kurt,” Blaine says quietly, “there’s a moment when you know everything is right in the world. And sometimes it’s one person who made it that way.”

Blaine is leaning forward, just a little bit, but suddenly Kurt can’t wait. He is falling in love with this boy so fast and so soon that it scares him, but for once it seems like he’s risking so little for such happiness.

So Kurt leans forward and kisses him.

There aren’t fireworks, like Kurt had secretly hoping there would be, but there are sparks that shoot a little bit up and down his spine. And he’s damn good at this. And Merlin, so is Blaine, he’s wonderful and oh god Blaine is kissing him back. Blaine really does like him and --

And then he loses all track of his thoughts as the two kiss, and when they pull away for gasps of crisp winter air, Kurt says, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to spring that on you unwanted, but...”

Blaine smiles and grabs both of Kurt’s gloved hands in his mittened ones. “I’m glad you did,” he says, and leans forward for another kiss. “It was so much better than anything I could have said.”

“Oi, Burt! You owe me ten quid!”

The call seems to startle Blaine, but Kurt just buries his head in his hands. Finn. Of course it’s Finn. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbles between the gaps of his fingers.

“Don’t be,” Blaine says, and pries his fingers away, kissing the gloved tip of each one. “They’re your family. And that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Kurt senses a little bit that Blaine is speaking out of experience here, but he wisely doesn’t comment on it, beaming up at him. “Well, Blaine Hufflepuff,” he says, smiling and leaning close for another kiss, “want to give them something else to talk about?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, infinite thanks go to my aunt, who let me use her WiFi and computer to type a good quarter of this story, and (unknowingly) to my boss at work who doesn’t assign me enough things to do during the day. Thanks to Mardy (missmardybum), who is lovely and I am very glad to count among my Internet friends now, for some stunning art and prompting this whole fic. Thanks to my dearest beta readers, letyourselfbesilentlydrawn and fantasyfan4ever. You know how much you each mean to me.
> 
> Second, I know we’re all reeling from Cory Monteith’s death so recently. This fanfic features a lot of background Finn as comedy relief. It’s been painful for me to edit, and I imagine it must be painful for some people to read. So thank you for reading, I suppose. My thoughts go to all of Cory’s family and friends, and to all of us who are grieving for someone most of us never personally knew.
> 
> As for the title: it’s actually a Bible verse. I’m simultaneously Jewish and an athiest, so I’ve no claim to understand the meaning behind it. However, it is inscribed, in the Harry Potter books, as the quote on the graves of Kendra and Ariana Dumbledore: “Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.” I thought it was a lovely way to phrase the journey of our two boys in a world with a lot more magic and more things to fear.


End file.
